All There Really Is To Say
by Ashley A
Summary: I Will Remember You ATS season one. The last five minutes from Angel's pov.


A/N:  I Will Remember You ATS season one.  The last five minutes from Angel's pov.

All dialog copyright David Greenwalt and Jeannie Renshaw.

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            The apartment is silent except for her pacing feet as I decend the stairs.  Everything on me hurts.  The bruises on my face, my back, and ribcage feel like each one has an electrode attached to it, and are pulsing in time with my heart.

                When she turns to face me, that pain drops away, and is replaced by the silent ache of betrayal I feel in my soul, knowing what I have to tell her.

                I glance at the clock.  It reads 8:56.

                Buffy crosses her arms in front of her chest, the red print dress she has on beautiful against her pristine skin.  Her flawless, unbruised skin.

                "I'm guessing that expression isn't because they were all out of fresh OJ at the deli," she quips softly.  I try to smile at the comment, but can't.

                "What happened?" she says.

                I hem and haw.  "Nothing happened.  I just…"

                She interrupts me.  "Where have you been?"

                I have to say it.  I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides and force the words to come out.

                "I went to see the Oracles."

                Oh God.  I can do this.

                "I asked them to turn me back."

                Her face pales, and a look of incredulity passes over her features.  It grows to one of noncomprehension.

                "What?  Why?"

                I decend the rest of the stairs, and stop in front of her.  I raise my hand, wanting to touch her, but can't will my fingers to go any farther than a few inches in front of me.  So I tell her the truth.

                "Because more than ever I know how much I love you."

                She blanches.  Her hair whips around in an arc as she wheels away to face the wall behind her.

                "No.  No you didn't."  She is trembling.  I follow her, and when I get close enough to feel her body heat against mine, she faces me again.  I keep babbling.

                "And if I stayed mortal, one of us would wind up dead, maybe both of us.  You heard what Mohra said."

                She is furious now.

                "Mohra's dead.  We killed him," she speaks through a clenched jaw.

                "He said others would come," I add.

                "They always come," she says, her hands flitting about like sick birds.  "They always will!  But that's my problem now, not yours, remember?"

                My heart is pounding, and sweat beads stand out on my brow.  I feel every ache again as I try to reason with her, to make her understand.

                "No.  I won't just stand by and let you fight, maybe die, alone."

                She steps up to me, tears standing in her eyes.  Oh please, no.

                "Then we fight together," she states, trying to convince herself and me that this makes all the sense in the world.

                "You saw what happened last night," I spit out, ashamed again of my failure.  I point to the black around one of my eyes.  "If anything, I'm a liability to you. You take chances to protect me, and that's not just bad for you, it's bad for the people we were meant to help."

                Screw the people we were meant to help.  My whole reason for existing is standing in front of me, naked want and sorrow screaming from every pore, and all I can do is try and justify my choice by making her feel guilty about caring for me?

                Damn me too.

                My stomach rolls and I feel a wave of dizzyness crawl over my skin.

                The tears she's been fighting against win the battle, and run down her face, splashing onto her dress, making small dark stains there.

                "So- what?  You just took a whole twenty four hours to weigh the ups and downs of being a regular joe and decided it was more fun being a superhero?"

                My heart cracks in two and falls to the ground, blood running everywhere except where it should.

                "You know that's not it," I answer, clenching my hands together in an effort to still myself from grabbing her and running away to South America with her.

                Where no one could find us, damn the consequences.

                There's only one thing I can say.  And when I say it, I get it.  The truth of my descision hits home, and I know, I feel, it's the right one. 

                I love this woman so much, that I could happily live off her refuse for the rest of my life.  But I won't dishonor her calling or mine just for my selfish wants and desires.

                I lived as an animal for so long, at the fringes of society.  Longer than I deserved.  I know the second chance I received was because of her.  And I won't throw that away.

                "How can we be together, when the cost is your life?  Or the lives of others?" I ask her simply.

                She gapes at me, then her face crumbles.

                I know she gets it too.

                And it kills me that she does.

                I cross the small distance between us, and gather her gently into my arms.  She lays her head down, her forehead resting on my chest.  I stroke her hair lightly, and her arms go around my waist.

                "I know," I murmur, my eyes burning, my body and soul screaming at me to _screw humanity!  This is what you need!  _

"I couldn't tell you.  I wasn't sure…if I could do it if I woke up with you one more morning."

                My throat clogs and the last words come out strangled.

                Buffy sniffles against my chest, and says "I understand," so softly I'm not sure I hear her at first.

                "So, what happens know?" she asks, lifting her head, her hazel eyes meeting mine.  My soul whimpers at the pain reflected in them, and I know she sees the same in mine.

                "The Oracles are giving us back the day, turning back time, so I can kill Mohra before his blood makes me mortal."

                One word from her beautiful lips.

                "When?"

                I look at the clock.  Has it really only been four minutes?

                "Another minute," I whisper to her.

                Her eyes grow wide, and her hands tighten around me.  "A minute?" she shakes her head frantically in disbelief.  Her face is red and blotchy, and tears track down her cheeks.  "No!  No, it's not enough time!"

                I pull her to me, and the reality of the situation jerks itself out of me. 

                "We don't have a choice.  It's done."

                She looks up at me, and her voice breaks. 

                "How am I supposed to go on with my life, knowing what we had…what we could have had?"

                No, god, no no no no.

                "You won't," I tell her softly.  "No one will know but me."

                She stares.  "Everything we did."

                I shake my head.  "It never happened."  _Yes it did, yes it did, it did, it did._

She quakes in my arms.  "It did!  I know it did," she spouts in denial, her arms squeezing me in a death grip.

                She pulls away slightly, and raises one tiny hand, placing it against my chest, feeling my racing pulse.  My heart leaps at her touch, recognizing it's mate.

                "I felt your heart beat," she whispers, and I shatter.

                "Buffy," I start, but she kisses me, desperately, frantically, and I respond in kind, somehow my body and mind knowing _this is it.  She's gone. _

She breaks away from me suddenly, and I don't want to open my eyes.  She looks at the clock.

                The minute is almost up.

                "No!" she cries, "Oh, God.  It's not enough time."

                _"I like time.  There's so little and so much of it."_

My knees buckle, and I wrap myself around her, her nose burying itself in the crook of my neck.  I begin to cry as well, with my whole being, and she nods hysterically into my skin.

                "Shhhhh," I tell her.  I've never felt this much pain.  Ever.  Physical hurt cannot begin to compare to this.  "Shhhhh, please…please." 

                I don't know what I'm pleading for, but it's the only thing I can force from my lips.

                "I'll never forget.  I'll never forget.  I'll never forget. I'll never forget," comes the refrain.

                Oh God, oh God, oh, God, oh, Buffy.

                I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the Powers and the Oracles to just leave us be, leave us alone, let me have her…

                "…so let's just stick to the plan.  Keep our distance until a lot of time has passed, and given enough time- we should be able to…"

                I blink desperately.  I'm leaning against my desk in my office.  Buffy is finishing her sentence, arms crossed, the same black outfit on that she had been wearing exactly 24 hours previous.

                I swallow hard. 

                "…forget."

                She blinks at me, then nods.  "Yeah.  So, I'm gonna go- start forgetting," she finishes lamely, and points at the door, turning in that direction.

                The Mohra crashes through the window just then like I knew he would.  As Buffy stands there, a look of astonishment on her face, I turn, picking up the first object I come to, and calmly smash the jewel in the Mohra's forehead.  It goes up in a flash of light, and we cringe away from the heat of it, momentarily.

                Buffy approaches me slowly, staring at the giant hole in the window.

                "That was- unreal," she says, stunned.  "How did you know how to kill it?"

                "It's a Mohra demon.  I- I have a lot of time to catch up on my reading," I say, stumbling over my words.  She looks at me resignedly, and I know what's coming.

                "Yeah.  Okay- So I guess we covered it, right?"

                _No.  No you have to stay, I made the wrong descision.  I need you.  I'm nothing without you._

"I guess we did," I say, keeping the emotion out of my voice.

                "And that's all there really is to say," she says, all tone gone out of the words.  I glance down at the object I had used to kill the Mohra with, and it's hands have stopped at 9:02.

                I look back up to speak to her, and all I see is the swish of her skirt as she leaves me.

                "Yeah.  That's it," I whisper to an empty room.

                Numbness sweeps over me, and I suddenly understand how she feels.  I look at the clock again.

                It will be 9:02 for me for a long time.


End file.
